


Please Leave Me Bleeding and Lovesick

by chiralismdoll



Category: American Psycho - All Media Types
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Awkwardness, BDSM, Blood and Injury, Bondage, Drug Use, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, Friendship, Gaslighting, Gender-neutral Reader, Gore, I don’t know how dark I want to make this so we’ll see I guess, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Obsessive Behavior, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Secret Crush, Self-Harm, Slight OOC, Slow Burn, Stalking, Yandere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28766238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiralismdoll/pseuds/chiralismdoll
Summary: You’re so gentle, and in truth,I wish this could last forever,but my heart refuses to acceptthis modest sense of happiness.Please give me nothing but a bloodstained love.I am twisted.There’s nothing else I can do.I try and try to put up with it,but I’m just covered in wounds, as if they belong to somebody else.That’s why I’m lonely. For eternity.—Oh, what a fool Patrick was, thinking what he had was what he needed in life. Disillusionment was inevitable, and although it was a painful awakening, he has to thank you for opening his eyes to what he needs: you.Nothing else matters anymore.
Relationships: Patrick Bateman/Reader
Comments: 19
Kudos: 45





	1. The Curtain Rises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seraphim00164](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphim00164/gifts).



> Wheeew hello. So I’m reupoloading this... I deleted the original back in like, June of 2020 because I wanted to edit it a ton... but I got busy with life, like everyone else. I always wanted to update it, but I literally don’t have timmmmeeee but fuck it though bro I’ve been thinking about him and I’m finishing this ok.
> 
> SHOUTOUT TO SERAPHIM00164 FOR GIVING ME THE PUSH TO RESTART THIS AJSJAJJA I LOVE YOU MAN THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!! I hope you will enjoy it!!
> 
> Anyway! Basically the inspiration for this entire story came from the time my old friend and I were talking about my then-crush on Bateman like last year, and he said “he’s just a little yandere boyfriend”
> 
> And it gave me GREAT inspiration. It also lead me to create that other Bateman x reader piece I made lololo but it will make sense in the future :)))))
> 
> So I’ve always given Bateman’s character a LOT of thought while reading the novel a few years back. He’s a narcissist, but he wants others’ approval. He’s confident, and yet, he hates himself. He thinks he’s better than everyone, but he’s constantly trying to look good in front of everyone. Apparently he doesn’t care about other people or their feelings but how come he let Jean live even though he never sought to use her for his own gain? Hm? Hm? I swear you could write him like... HOWEVER TF U WANT... Like really, his character is so flexible IMO, but I rarely see any kind of... exploration on it!! Where’s my weak-willed Bateman? My insecure Bateman? My withdrawn Bateman?? Well he is gonna be in here, don’t worry LOL. Oh but his most prominent trait is that he’s a miserable piece of shit ❤️Aaaand since he is a yandere in this, I have to explain, when I picture a yandere, for some reason I always want them to be different than when they weren’t yandere. Like, this Bateman, once he goes yan... omg have mercy LOL. So yeah! This is basically Patrick Bateman Remixed FJDJJSNSJ.
> 
> Okay anyway the edits for this first chapter are minor, but I am satisfied for the most part. I don’t want to deviate too much from the original concept but I did come up with a TON of new ideas just from today!! Stick around or I’ll cry, bro. Anyway here you go ^_^

_When he thinks of the word "perfect", Patrick Bateman can't help but instantly picture himself, no matter the context of the given situation. Control is lost on him when the sudden vision of himself flashes in his mind at the mention of the word, being as handsome, intelligent, meticulous, and charming as he is. If you mention that word to him, and if you pay close enough attention, you might happen to spot the faint presence of a smirk on his lips. And if you ask him what "perfect" means, well... the only examples he will provide are all things pertaining to himself. Whether it's shiny hair, gorgeous body, foxy features, his work ethic, his career, sense of fashion, his wealth, his brutality, his drugs, his sharp intent to shred people to pieces—_

__

__

_Yes, the man has it all. Everything he could ever hope for in life, all in the palm of his hand..._

_But should he be satisfied, even when during all this, constant floods of disgust and sadism override his sense of being and he wonders, if he dies, will this all end?_

_He's never cared much for metaphysics._

_He doesn't want to know if heaven or hell exists. But he's afraid that he already knows, because in you, there's a little bit of both and it kills and enlightens him to see your face almost every day. He gets a taste of death, something he desperately craves when you're near him, but the clenching of his heart never brings on a heart attack to end him. And the life you bring... like any other, he wants to snuff it out. Painfully. And yet... he can't bear the thought of such a thing being inflicted upon you._

_Turmoil has never been so prominent before. Never has he ever been thrown into such disarray, such confusion, such frantic need for understanding. It was fine before you showed up._

_If only you hadn't walked into his life. If only you had the right mind to leave him be, to never even look his way, to let him tear himself apart that fateful night. But now you've sealed your own fate. What a fool you are._

_You poor thing._

——————

_It was any other day at Pierce and Pierce, the cold of outside Autumn shielded by the cozy building of which Patrick was in, where he hung up his phone with a click. He had been casually chatting with a partner company's representative, discussing a topic they didn't get to finish last phone call. It was the same thing as usual that he dealt with in his day-to-day work life. Nothing noteworthy._

_Leaning back into his chair, he shut his eyes in contemplation. A natural frown found its way on his handsome face at the recalling of some earlier talk floating about the office. Some new hire was apparently starting their first day here. He didn't know any details, but perhaps it was just some stupid rumor._

_Whatever. What is he having for lunch today...? Oh shit. He sat up and reached over to page Jean impatiently._

_"Jean, who am I having lunch today with?"_

_"Jack Holly. Should I cancel?" She replied through the staticky machine, knowing his usual attitude. Ugh,_ that _guy. It's an important follow-up though, so it was best to follow through his word. Patrick Bateman does not back down from his word._

_"No, I was just wondering." He sighed, tapping the desk with his other hand. "Who's the new hire here? I keep hearing about that, and it's getting very redundant."_

_"Oh, their name is _____ _____. They're in the Middle department. They've had the same people for a few years now. It's about time we get a fresh face around there, don't you think?"_

_Instead of replying, Patrick lifted his finger from the machine and set his crossed arms on the desk to lay his head down on them. He couldn’t help that his mind shut down the moment he found out who he’d be with for lunch. How annoying. He didn't feel like thinking then. He supposed a little nap won't hurt..._

_...he's later woken up by the sound of Jean's voice calling his name. Startled, he sat up, a piece of paper sticking to his cheek. Jean stifled a giggle at the sight, and in embarrassment he ripped the paper off his face to set it neatly on his desk._

_"I'm sorry," he said through grit teeth. He quickly regained composure. At least Jean is cute. "What is the_ matter, _Jean?"_

_"Patrick, you're on lunch now. I just wanted to let you know. You're usually punctual..."_

_"Yes, I know. You can leave now."_

_She shut the door, leaving him alone._

_Sighing heavily, Patrick stood up from his seat and pushed the chair in. He quickly put on his Louis Vuittton jacket and went over to throw the door open, angrily storming down the hall. He dreaded going to lunch with that asshole Jack. Of course the idiot had to choose a shitty place to eat. If he had it his way, he'd take the son of a bitch's arms and rip them cle—_

_He grunted in surprise when a smaller body suddenly collided into him. It staggered back a little, and if Patrick weren't quick to react, he wouldn't have grabbed the person's wrist to prevent them from falling. But maybe he should have let them fall on their ass, that would have been hilarious._

_Releasing the person's wrist, and stepping back to shoot an accusing glare, he's met with a new face he's never seen before._

_"Oh, shit. I'm sorry. We were both walking a little fast there." The person said, fixing their outfit up._

_"You. You're new." he said dumbly._

_Instead of seeing one of his usual coworkers with whom he would have made a snappy remark about their collision, he saw you before him, wearing an impressive black suit with gorgeous dark brown leather shoes. An Armani outfit, perhaps? Along with the ensemble, your hair was styled perfectly, glossy and clean atop your head. Your skin was very glassy and clear. He could tell you weren't wearing any makeup. Even he was dying for skin like that._

_He watched how you smiled sickeningly sweet at him. Instinctively, he almost reached out to swipe that lousy smile off your face, though his self restraint was strong,_

_"Yes, my name is _____ _____. You must be Patrick Bateman." You extended your hand to him. Wow, he sure is handsome, you thought shyly._

_Now normally, he wouldn't bother to exchange formalities. But you're new here. And he has to keep up a friendly image despite wanting to rip people to shreds almost constantly. It's the sense of normalcy he aspires to achieve._

_Grinning handsomely at you, he took your hand and shook it gently. Your grip was firm, he noticed._

_"Yes. I'm Patrick Bateman. Nice to meet you." You both released hands._

_"You're the VP of the Front office, right?"_

_"That I am."_

_"Well, I hear you do a great job..."_

_"Thank you." He said simply._

_An awkward beat passed._

_"Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Bateman. Maybe I'll see you around sometime."_

_"Who cares." He mumbled._

_"Hmm?"_

_"I said that would be nice. I hope you have a great first day." He winked at you._

_Then he brushed past you hurriedly, coat fluttering behind him as he thought about what to order later..._

_That was the first time he ever saw you._

_Days passed, and everything was his “normal.” He didn’t see you for a while after that. Truth be told, he completely forgot about you. It was like you never even existed. Until last night._

_It was after hours, he was staying late to finish some paperwork he slacked off on for the past few days. He was already on thin ice with his superior, so getting in his paperwork before the deadline was imperative to keep his position. He couldn't afford to lose his job, to "disappoint" his father, the old geezer. But as the hours from the end of his shift passed, his sanity decreased more and more. Of all the times to happen. Fuck his life._

_Cue you, of course._

_Funny enough, you were also staying late for a similar reason. Your friend here needed you to revise something important of hers, since she had to leave early to attend to some urgent matters. Of course, you being the good friend you are decided to accept. After having finished what you needed to do, and going over the work multiple times to make sure you had everything right, you threw your jacket on and made your way to exit the building. Then, the light coming from Patrick's office caught your eye as you made your way down the hall, you curiously glanced over, peering through the office blinds to see Patrick staring blankly down at the desk moving strangely. What you didn't know, was that he was furiously scratching at his leg with a sharpened pencil, managing to scrap away the pants fabric and a small layer of flesh. It wasn't until he used his bloodied hand to paw at his face, smearing the crimson liquid, did you jump up in alarm. You immediately burst into the office to help him._

_"Bateman, Bateman!" You rushed to his side, to see the damage done, and a gasp escaped your mouth upon seeing the wound he self inflicted. Patrick hadn't really acknowledged your presence, only mumbled something about eyes growing in his leg and hating being watched, or something like that... you carefully snatched the bloodied writing utensil away and threw it into the trashcan before coming back to help him. He was still acting strange, though, going on about stuff you couldn't understand a bit of... it was obvious what was going on. Hallucinations? Delusions? With that thought in mind, you did everything you could to help him in those moments._

_"Patrick," you said calmly, watching how he kept clawing at his legs, rocking back and forth in his chair. He was breathing harshly, shaking his head and mumbling almost silently. You stopped yourself from reaching out to touch him. "Please, look at me."_

_He turned his head to look up at you through his lashes, evidently dazed. You knelt down to rest your arms on the chair arm rest, looking into his cocoa brown eyes._

_"Hey, what's going on?"_

_"There's... they're going to hurt me."_

_"Who? Who is?"_

_"I_ killed _one of them.... I.. I... " he gave you the most pitiful look you've ever seen on someone. Then he burst into tears._

_"I had to! They almost h-hurt me, and... I only wanted some of the caviar... it wasn't fair. I've done nothing wrong! Someone.. help.. me..."_

_Shit, he was in deep._

_"Shhh, no one is here to hurt you. Will you let me help you?" Calmly, you reached your hand out to him, making sure he saw it. He made no move to stop you from grabbing his clean hand, and his sniffling died down a little when he felt your touch against his._

_"Don't hurt me... I'll_ fucking _kill you." He growled through the silence. Your blood ran ice cold at that from the sincerity in his voice._

_"H-Hey, I promise I'm not going to hurt you. No one is here to hurt you, it's just you and me here. You gotta go home and rest."_

_"They're waiting for me..."_

_"Do you live with anyone?"_

_"No..."_

_"Did you give anyone a key to your home?"_

_"N-no..."_

_"Then no one is there. If anything, you've got a nice warm bed to sleep in. Don't you want to get some rest?"_

_He nods like a little child, and you almost "aww" out loud. Despite his earlier threat._

_You think for a brief moment._

_"Well, come on, let's get you home."_

_"Please hold me..."_

_You stopped short at that. You were already hesitant to hold his hand, as to not alarm him, but… his puppy eyes were almost too much._

_You’re definitely not going to forget that image any time soon._

_Without a word, you stood up, bent over, and awkwardly scooped Bateman into a hug. He instantly clung to you, long arms wrapped around your waist as he buried his face into your stomach and wept hysterically. It felt bad listening to him sob like that. Poor guy._

_So there you were, holding a coworker in your arms, a man you've only met a few times, the vice president of his department, cooing to him gently and petting his hair with all the chasteness you could muster, as if he were your little child. His little sniffles were muffled against your jacket, and due to the circumstances, you weren't irritated that his snot smeared on its expensive fabric._

_It took a while for him to get to the next point, but when Patrick's episode was close to over, It was clear he was ready to go home. Once he released you, you had run to one of the bathrooms to retrieve a first aid kit to tend to his wound, but once he saw it on your hands he hissed at you to back off. It was best not to get offended under the circumstances, so you let it slide._

_Who knows how long he was suffering through it that night. It could have been hours, you thought, if the thrashed room meant anything at all._

_Patrick had been cautious of you the entire time. But he said nothing to you aside from some "yes"s and "no"s in answer to your questions. With him clinging to you, murmuring unknown things next to your ear, you led him down to the elevator of the building, and once you both got in, he leaned on you the entire time, growing silent and contemplative. The way his hair clung to his forehead with sweat, and how his eyes suspiciously darted around made you pity him._

_Once you had stepped outside with him, saying goodbye to the last janitor you passed, you hailed a cab for Patrick. When he realized what was going to happen next, he pulled away from you, swaying lightly. You both exchanged a look. There's something you wanted to ask him, knowing what this was all about._

_"Pardon me for being invasive, but... are you going to therapy...?"_

_He shakes his head._

_"Okay... do you have meds?"_

_He nods._

_"You take them regularly?"_

_He didn't make any sort of reply. So that's a no, then._

_"I see... okay. Well, make sure to take your meds as prescribed. I know it's not my business, but... maybe it would help just a little. I know medication isn't that fun but your doctor surely knows what's good for you." You flushed a deep red, after that, holding your palm to your warm cheek. "Oh, look at me, chastising a grown man... forgive me."_

_When you looked into his eyes, you saw something indistinguishable flash in them._

_"It's not my place to say... but maybe getting a therapist would also be of help. But if you don't want to do that, and if you ever want to talk or maybe, have a shoulder to lean on or cry on... I'm here." Still, he stares vacantly._

_"Patrick, are you okay to get home? Or should I come with you?" You mentally face palmed at the wording. "I mean. To make sure you get there safe. I just want you to be alright."_

_His pause was lengthy._

_"... I'm fine."_

_"Okay. Take care of yourself. I'll see you at work. Sleep well..."_

_He then avoided your gaze, turning to the cab and entered it, limping only slightly. He offered you no thanks, no final glance before he shut the door on you. It wasn't long before the driver drove off, leaving you behind._

_Feeling pity, you made your own way home._

———

Patrick's eyes open slowly to see the morning light seeping through the half closed blinds. On the couch, he lays there still in his bloody work clothes, the memories from the previous night startling him somewhat. Did it… really happen? It’s not the first time someone has seen him that way, he's sure, but.... even then, it was so rare. He's usually so good about controlling himself in public...

Well. That's not exactly true, but—

There is a disturbing thought lingering in his mind, one that stirs something bad in the pit of his stomach. And he can’t help but grit his teeth at the realization. Why hadn't he let you come home with him? When he made that threat to kill you, it simply slipped through out of habit… You mean nothing to him, but... that look of pity you gave him the entire time made him burn with... shame? Was it shame? He’s felt embarrassed before, sure, but… well. But why hadn't he let you come to his apartment? He could have easily had his way with you, using his lethal instruments to eviscerate you how he saw fit. And he really considered it before he got in the cab you hailed just for him, imagining briefly the look of horror you would have on your pretty face if he managed to corner you with a butcher knife raised at you... But you were so concerned. Asking him questions, calming him down, holding..... him...so...gently.... not exactly unpleasant. He's shocked. Doesn't move from the couch for a good two hours, thinking about things in silence.

When he finally decides to get up, though, it's with intent to at least clean up the long, shallow gash on his thigh. He’s surprised to see there’s not as much blood as he expected. It's still a bit sore as he stands up, limping his way toward the bathroom.

Hissing slightly, he leans against the door frame for support. Then he hobbles toward the mirror where his first aid kit awaits him.

Opening the mirror door, he spots the kit, and a flash of last night entered his mind. You grabbed a first aid kit for him, and for some reason it reminded him of those scenes in movies where a character will corner a scared, injured little dog so that they can scoop it up and take it in for treatment and cuddles. Jesus… he scoffs at that, he can handle himself perfectly, thank you very much. 

After snatching the kit out, he then spots the bright orange beside it. Glancing at the pill bottles, your words float within his mind.

_"Make sure to take your meds as prescribed,"_

Idiot. Who cares.

He hesitantly takes the pill bottle along with the first aid kit, and sets them on the counter.

...Should I take these?

_"I just want you to be alright."_

Taking the glass set next to the sink, he fills it up with water and opens the bottle to pluck out a pill. He looks at it briefly, observing the color, the shape, the texture of it between his fingers... then he places it on his lolled out tongue before taking the glass of water and chugging it down with the pill.

The feeling is no different from swallowing a halcion or ecstacy, but the knowledge of the situation…….


	2. Childish Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick isn’t quite sure what to think of last night’s events. He’s also not sure what to think of your gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah i suck at summaries. And this story is def gonna be slow at first but just wait >:)...

Patrick is thankful that he has today and tomorrow off, because the pain radiating from his thigh and up his hip is more irritating than anything, and he's sure that if he came into work limping and risk people thinking he's taken it up the ass (which that would have been way better than a flesh wound) he'd probably tear their throats out instantly for pissing him off. Not like it's anyone's business, of course. But either way, the matter still stands; he's still frazzled over the events of last night and attempts to forget it by doing his morning routine as best he can, starting with using the rest room, then washing his face with his intricate routine. But he has to come up with a new breakfast idea because he didn't have time to do it yesterday. He swears he feels hungover. But he didn't drink last night.

He's not even sure if last night really happened or not.

After eating his first meal of the day, he puts on a black form fitting tee shirt and some running shorts, an exercise outfit he threw together because he's not sure if he will actually exercise today, but he still wants to be prepared. He then limps over to his couch before slowly lowering himself on it, then moving until he's laying on his stomach, injured leg hanging off the furniture. Sighing deeply, he turns his head and reaches for the remote on the coffee table, growling when it clatters to the floor. He snatches it back up and points it toward the TV.

He turns it on, immediately going into his recording list to find the Patty Winters Show. It's been a couple days since he's seen an episode, and he's dying to see what he missed.

Switching to the oldest one of the recent recordings, he looks at the title of the episode. "Magic Wishing Well", the synopsis explaining how a young woman's dreams came true simply by throwing a coin each wish she made into the well behind her house.

Ooh.

He presses play instantly. 

**The opening plays where the host walks onto the stage, audience clapping fervently. Patty sits down at the host's chair, giving a more detailed and lighthearted explanation of the guest's circumstances. Patty then welcomes today's (or that day's) guest. The woman, named Charlotte, is a tall and fit woman emanating beauty as she walks toward the host. She sits down elegantly in the guest chair, looking great in her wine red dress.**

**"So, Charlotte, tell us about yourself, and the reason why you're here."**

**The woman smooths down her hair before speaking.**

**"Well, Patty, I'm just a 27 year old woman who just wants to share her story of how her life turned around for the better. I didn't used to believe in miracles, but… well, after what happened, I just can’t live the rest of my life without telling anyone. Of course, that's always how stories like mine start. The people who don't believe in miracles always have them happen to them, and those that do believe in them, nothing happens for them. Isn't that sad?"**

**"Quite."**

**"Anyway, I guess it all started when I was a kid… My childhood was rough. I never believed in miracles because I was constantly going through things I didn't deserve. Worst years of my life."**

Blah blah blah. She spends about ten minutes going on about the bullshit Patrick couldn't care less about.

**"...Anyway, so my hope went down the drain. I started doing drugs as a teenager, real heavy things like coke and meth. It was awful. I was also a prostitute at 17..."**

**"How terrible."**

**"When I moved into my house at 23, it was a complete mess. I was going through other stuff I don't want to mention, but my priority wasn't exactly to play interior designer. I was already so mentally drained. So one day, I'm exploring the woods behind my house, and I came across this little well. I looked in it, and there was nothing. Just pitch black. Who knows how deep it was. All I knew was it gave me a really bad feeling."**

**"So what did you do next?"**

**"Just walked away. It didn't sit right with me. So I went ahead and got home. Lived life for a while, got busy with my dead end job... and more bad things were happening to me. Things I made happen to me, but couldn’t stop... I just wanted it to stop. I just didn't know how to make it go away, you know? It was like the world was trying to kill me.**

**"So then one day I just wanted to do it myself. I thought of where I just might end it all. Using a butcher knife would have been too boring, too bland for an already nobody like me at the time.**

**"I had an idea to spice it up a little. I was maybe going to grab my blender, break the plastic open until only the blades were sticking out, turn it on, then throw my head onto it face first-"**

Oh, that's a good idea, Patrick thinks as he mentally takes a note.

**"-But then, after months of forgetting all about it, I remembered that stupid little well. I realized then, through all my self-loathing, I could just throw myself in there to really see how deep it was. I didn't care that I might have survived. My mind was already frantic, I suppose I was having one of those episodes where I can’t discern reality from daydream… but enough was enough. I ran all the way outside and to that well, and stopped short because everything sunk in. I stood there. Peering into the endless void. I don't really want to do that. I can't do that. I don't actually want to die. I want to be happy. I just want this bad stuff to end. This torment I can't control, that I cause... with the drug use and the prostitution and the self harm and my horrid job… so I kind of just cried for a bit… Eventually I was calm enough to step down from the situation.**

**"Then I remembered I had extra change in my pocket from going to the store earlier, and I said 'screw it'. I grabbed a penny and shut my eyes, thinking of a wish... What was the worst thing that could happen from me making a stupid wish? So, I wanted to start from the root of my unhappiness, I wanted to get the will to stop needing drugs and to stop trading sex for drugs."**

**"So... I'm assuming it came true."**

**"I didn't notice it. After I made that wish, I cried some more. Then I went home, thinking it was a waste of time. And I fell asleep on the couch in my clothes, feeling pain from my situation. I remembered it the next morning, but it meant nothing to me. I didn't realize that moment would change my life forever."**

**"I see... What do you mean you 'didn't notice it'?"**

**"What I mean is... the wish. I didn't even notice it came true. I quickly just stopped caring about my drugs. I didn't notice any withdrawal symptoms. I kind of just ignored clients' calls. And eventually I just didn't do drugs at all. I haven't used them since. But that was the first step in getting what I wanted. It was something that saved me.**

**"Then when I did notice it, I saw my calendar and was like 'oh, it's been a month since I almost killed myself. Why haven't I had any drugs? Any clients? Then I thought of that stupid well... and I got curious again... Surely that wish didn't do anything? But it did. and I tested it out. I went back there and wished for a better job. Sure enough, an old coworker I used to work with at that trashy job got in touch with me a week later and told me her new job was hiring. I quickly went over to that new job which paid me like 3 dollars more than what I made at that other place. And it was awesome."**

**"I'll bet!"**

**"Yes, and then I wished for a new car. A friend's sugar daddy didn't mind getting one for me a week later. No sex involved."**

**Everyone chuckles at that.**

**"That's amazing. Are you sure it was from that well?"**

**"Of course. I wished for many things. Sure, I have a bad day here and there, where things don't go my way, but ultimately I only ever used that well for major things. Things that were important to me. Like gaining my happiness and a sense of self…" she trails off with a knowing smirk.**

Patrick watches the rest of the episode in silence, slowly feeling dizziness overtake him from exhaustion. Ahh, he only woke up a while ago, and already he's tired? Oh well. So much for that morning exercise he was going to do.

Shutting the TV off, he drops the remote to the floor with a clatter and closes his eyes. Sleep overcomes him quickly as he imagines where in New York he may find a wishing well of his own.

———

A day and a half later, and it's back to the daily grind at Pierce and Pierce. Patrick has an exceptional healing rate (but of course, would he have anything different?) and at this point, the wound on his leg feels a bit sore at most, rather than the sharp stabbing sensation he previously experienced.

As his aching legs carry him to his office, he does his best to keep his head low, and his gait as put together as possible to avoid any suspicious comments from coworkers. He's not in a particularly bad mood, per se, but he would rather have an easy day today at work with no distractions, where he can accomplish his tasks and the project he's close to finishing (he's worked extra hard lately) and not be distracted by everyone’s snide comments.

Passing by Jean without a glance or a word to her, his hand extends outward to the door handle, the soft skin of his fingers barely grazing it. But Jean notices him, and speaks out.

"Oh, Patrick," she calls out in that meek voice of hers. He stops dead in his tracks, wincing slightly away from her sight. Then, with a grin forcing it's way across his face, he turns to her, the outfit she has on isn't that good looking today.

"Yes, Jean?"

"_____ _____ brought a gift for you. I set it on your desk. Do you think they're an admirer?" She frowns a little at that and Patrick tries not to feel annoyance.

"No. No, Jean, I do not think they are an admirer."

He makes no further comment as he enters his office. He looks around in shock. Why the hell is this place a mess?!

Growling slightly, he shrugs his coat off and hangs it up before angrily slamming the door, and goes to snatch up the crumpled pieces of paper strewn about the room. Each time he bends over his leg hurts, but he tries not to think about it and instead thinks of what Jean is wearing today.

At every piece of wadded up paper, he uncrumples them to see if any of them are important documents. Shit, only a few are, unfortunately. The rest of the garbage, he throws into the waste bin. But he pauses. His eye catches sight of something... strange. There's sticky-looking reddish brown smears within the white of the bin, clinging to the plastic.. Is that blood? There's a pencil in there that is also slathered in the stuff. He thinks back to his leg. Then how Jean is dressed today.

So it really did happen...

His mind suddenly flashes to the way he clung to you pathetically, sobbing against you and hanging on for dear life. Your perfume was amazing. But the fact that he even did such a thing— absolutely ridiculous. He hates when people touch him. But the thing is, he asked you to touch him! Why??? And he didn’t even stop you when you started petting him gently like some kind of dog— again, like those scenes from movies, rescuing a little hurt dog and trying to make him feel better by giving him cuddles and cooing reassuring words at him… with those warm hands and gentle voice of yours...

How insulting. But a slight warmth blooms in his cheeks.

He tosses the garbage into the waste bin and turns to head toward his desk. But he stops in place, eyes drifting to the little things sitting colorfully on it.

He steps near it cautiously, confused, looks around in a dazed fashion. When he steps toward his desk, moving to where the chair is, he tilts his head. What on Earth?

There's a fuzzy little stuffed animal sitting atop his desk. It's a pink fox with a white stomach and a blue heart on its chest. Beside the faux creature, there is a small box of candies, fruit chews, he guesses, and underneath everything there is a yellow envelope. An envelope?

Cautiously, he pulls it from under the objects. The stuffed animal falls over with its beady little black eyes staring straight at him.

He reaches over to open his desk drawer to fish out his letter opener. Swiftly, he opens the envelope, and takes what appears to be a greeting card out, setting the letter opener and envelope on the desk. He looks at the title. It says "get well soon" in shiny sapphire letters. He forces it open, scanning the contents written on the page. There's a small, shitty printed picture of a mama duck with its babies, they're carelessly floating in a poorly colored-in pond.

Duck actually sounds a little good right now, Patrick thinks, as he reads the words written by hand on the page. Maybe foie gras...

_'Dear Mr. Bateman,_

_I hope I didn't startle you Friday night here at work. I hadn't meant to make you feel uncomfortable. I was only worried. I hope you're feeling a lot better now._  
I know these little gifts may be a bit juvenile, but I hope you don't think I'm trying to mock you. That's the last thing I'd want to do. They just mean that I'm thinking of you, just a gift that hopefully cheers you up.  
With that said, I promise I won't tell anyone what happened. It's not my business. In fact, we can forget about it if you'd like. But I'll reiterate what I said to you that night, in case you forgot. I just want you to know that if you need anything, if you want to talk, or just have a friend there for you, let me know. You know where to find me. No pressure. 

_From _____ ______

_PS. Have I ever told you your hair looks great?'_

Patrick stares longer than he should. He blinks once. Twice. A heavy feeling reaches his gut and he can feel his hands tingling unpleasantly.

He smiles though, because… yes, his hair is great.

He doesn't say or think anything as he puts the card back in its little envelope. Then he takes the little gifts along with it and puts them on the corner of his desk, away from his workspace.

Then, he sinks into his chair, leaning back to rock in it slightly, for just a few minutes. He stares at the cracks in the ceiling, counting them mindlessly.

Later, he's on his way to deliver some paperwork to his higher up.

"Hi, Bateman!"

Patrick stops dead in his tracks at the voice calling out to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots you staring back at him with a tiny little wave. There's nobody else in the hall. Your outfit isn't that impressive today. Neither was Jean's. And neither was Carruthers' (but that's to be expected.)

Why is Patrick the only nicely dressed person today?

His heart inexplicably races then, pulse alight with adrenaline. His eyes widen a little, pupils dilating unbeknownst to him. He turns his body (impeccably adorned with a Ralph Lauren ensemble) and frowns.

"Hi." He says curtly.

His heart sinks when you step a bit closer to him, your eyes shifting suspiciously before landing on him. He holds himself back from flinching.

"Hey... are you alright?" Your expression grows concerned then, and he can't help but vaguely notice the way your head tilts. As if you were trying to look cute. "About that Friday night... I hope you've recovered nicely. You look in good shape, but I wanted to check in with you. I know it's not my place, but..." you trail off, and he wonders what you are going to say.

Oh goodness, stop it already.

Irritation quickly overcomes him, and he decides he needs to shake off the way his heart pounds in his chest. It feels… fucking horrible. Stop!!

Get the hell out of there.

"Yes, absolutely fine, now have a good day." And with that, he resists the urge to knock his shoulder into yours as he storms off, leaving you shocked and confused.

Ouch. He really didn’t want to talk to you, huh?

Oh. Well. That's okay, you think to yourself as you walk away. A little bit of you feels dejected, but... Perhaps in realizing his vulnerability at the time, he must be embarrassed that he was seen in such a state. That's to be expected from a manly man like him.

Oh well!

Undaunted, you proceed with your work day.

———

The model falls onto his bed, bouncing lightly from the soft mattress beneath her. Her dainty hands grab handfuls of the silk sheets, imported from Spain, and sighs dreamily as she feels Patrick's lips kissing her thighs and trailing up the expanse of her flesh. He nips repeatedly, feeling the fat in between his teeth, rolling it back and forth.

She's moaning playfully until she stops suddenly, and in confusion, Patrick looks up.

"Oh... ah, what's that?" She points at something on his end table. Something pink is seen there. "It's so... stupid looking..." she slurs, intoxicated from her cranberry and vodka from earlier.

A sharp scream suddenly tears out of her throat when she feels her flesh being ripped open. Her big eyes look down to see a chunk of her thigh missing, which now hangs loosely from Patrick's mouth. He chews on the waxy looking meat before spitting it out, ignoring the way the model's manicured hands yank at his hair frantically to get him off of her as he takes another bite out of her, viciously gnawing down on her limb.

The pink Fox's dark, empty eyes stare indifferently at the gruesome scene before him as shrill cries pierce the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title song: https://youtu.be/rgpokMLiklI


	3. Hello Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick finds himself coming back to a new little place he discovered. Not because you frequent the place, but because he’s bored! Yeah...

Time passes, and Bateman refuses to even look at you whenever you pass him in the hall. He never says a word to you. Which is fine. You didn't expect him to offer any further conversation about what happened that night. He was in a vulnerable position, of course a manly man like him would feel ashamed... but what you didn't know, was that each time he swallows a pill, his mind goes back to you. There was a certain look in your eyes. It was a look he hadn't seen on someone else in so long, directed at him, no less. So when he swallows down those little candy-looking capsules, all he can envision is your approving grin, and his heart flutters strangely.

He's in the middle of eating when he hears the familiar pitch of his phone ringing. Rolling his eyes, he puts his food down and heads on over to grab the phone from the receiver, putting it up to his ear.

"Patrick Bateman speaking."

"What are you up to, ya dumb bastard?"

Patrick sighs, hearing McDermott's voice on the other line.

"Well, Craig, I was in the middle of eating. What do you want?"

"The guys and I were wondering if you want to come with us to Tunnels tonight. 10ish, maybe? After we go to Texarcana, of course. Van Patten wants us to meet his new girlfriend or whatever. Pfft, that guy scored some hottie, or so we've been told."

While the idea of Van Patten, the more soft spoken of the group, finding a babe amuses Patrick somewhat, he still feels no desire to see this woman.

"No thanks. I'll pass."

A small silence passes.

"What's been up with you, Patrick? You keep blowing us off. We haven't brought it up to you, but it's starting to get irritating. Don't tell me you took us seriously when we poked fun at you?"

Patrick wants to say "which time", but he knows better than to lead Craig on to tease him some more.

"No. I just don't feel like going out."

"Well, whatever. Let us know if you want to hang out again."

Patrick hangs the phone up. He goes back over to eat his cherry soup with whipped mascarpone and carmelized almonds. The Patty Winters show was about fast food workers drinking cleaning agent and suing their companies for it.

Now that Patrick thinks about it, he hasn't really been hanging out with his friends lately. Instead, just staying home most of the time aside from work and the gym. Weird. Though, he’ll admit, it does feel… kind of pleasant to simply relax. When was the last time he didn’t have anything planned on his time off?

So unlike him.

Sighing at this, he swallows the food in his mouth and silently leans on his hand. His dark eyes look towards the window, peering outside where the city bustles busily. He counts four pigeons on his patio, watching how they peck mindlessly at the ground, more out of boredom than there actually being food, he guesses. Can pigeons even feel bored? They can definitely feel pain, he knows that for sure.

Speaking of boredom, he wonders if he should take his Seroquel and go to sleep, but thinks against it because it's only 11ish, and he stands up to put his dishes away. He could watch porn, maybe. But he doesn't want to. Perhaps he will....... go on a walk. Wait. A...walk? Oh, right. Physical exercise that doesn’t include going to a gym where you pay for a membership. Yes, that's it. Fresh air never hurt anybody.

A walk… going on a walk… Like a dog. He sneers at that. Maybe if he shows up to your office wearing a collar you’d probably pull out a leash and put it on him, petting him gently and saying _“come on, Bateman! Walk? Walk?!”_ with that stupid smile on your face. _”come on, boy, good boy!”_

After putting on a clean outfit consisting of one of his usual suits and shoes, he admires himself in the mirror after completing the look with a long overcoat. Nice. Oh, wait. He smooths out his hair a bit. There.

As he's walking along, autumn wind swirling through the air, and his head held high, he aimlessly wanders through the streets, not paying any mind to the blur of blank faces passing him by.

As always, people are in a rush to get where they need to go. The only people who don’t seem to be going anywhere are the bums asking for money and a couple of people here and there standing outside shops hoping to reel in customers by shouting at passersbys.

The same boring thing every day.

With his gloved hands stuffed in his pockets, he sighs, staring straight ahead into nothingness. The blur of colors are lost on him as he simply lets his legs carry him wherever.

He finds himself walking on the innermost part of the sidewalk closest to the various shops. His eyes drift through the windows, briefly glancing at the many products on display, looking at people inside book stores, restaurants, animals in a pet shop… but nothing quite catches his eye as he’s walking along, until—

Wait a second. Is that…?

He stops in his tracks by a coffee shop, where on the other side of the glass, at a table in a dimly lit corner, he sees you, sipping away at your coffee while reading your book. He can’t help but purse his lips in dissatisfaction.

Look at how unaware you are of your surroundings... Sure, it’s a public place, but you’re too absorbed with whatever it is that you’re reading to notice the people moving about. At any moment, someone, like him, for example, could do something crazy and maybe rob the cash register, maybe grab you and take you hostage with a gun held to your pretty little head, but you’d be too involved in your stupid book to even be prepared for that. Wouldn’t it be funny, though? To see you beg for your life? Patrick wonders how you act when terrified. Are you a crier? Or a pleader, begging to be spared? Maybe you’re like a bunny, freezing up and hoping the predator won’t take notice of you...

It’s pitiful how oblivious you are. Even more so since you can’t even feel his eyes burning holes in your very form. Can’t even see the dark figure standing still on the other side of the glass, watching you silently.

It’s Sunday. Do you always go here on Sundays? Do you always show up here around noon? Drinking your coffee, which he thinks might be disgusting, reading your little novels and escaping the real world yet finding yourself smack dab in the middle of it anyway?

Surrounding yourself by strangers who you have little to no connection with.

He thinks it’s pathetic.

———

The next Sunday, around noon, Patrick decides to go on another walk.

With a similar outfit on as last time, he looks in the mirror and smooths his hair out, having tried a different hairstyle today, leaving a bit of his bangs to hang over his eyebrow. Not too bad, he supposes. It makes him look boyish, but is that a bad thing? He guesses not. Still, it’s so different. Having his hair like this at home and at the gym is fine, since he’s not in a professional setting. But in public? Strange. Like wearing pajamas outside. This hair style is more laid back than the prim and proper slicked back style he normally wears when out and about.

But, as always, he’s fucking sexy. Ready to show himself off.

So, he heads out again, legs carrying him at a faster pace than yesterday. He passes by the same buildings, turns the same corners, walks in the innermost of the sidewalk…. and as he gets closer to where his legs intend to carry him, he slows his brisk walk to a relaxed gait and braces himself to enter the building.

But he pauses. His mind draws a blank. He doesn’t know why. His hands feel really warm.

Swallowing his hesitation, he lifts his eyes up and searches for you in the spot you were in last time, and he’s satisfied when he sees you there, reading a different book than before.

He reaches toward the door and enters the coffee shop.

The scent of coffee and vanilla floods his nose, and with idle chatter floating throughout the cafe, he looks around briefly. None of these people are wearing anything he admires.

His eyes drift to you from his peripheral and he scoffs when he sees you haven’t looked up at him. Still as dense as ever.

Staring straight ahead, he walks toward the register and looks up at the menu. It’s not that he intends to drink any of this cheap crap, but… appearances, appearances.

“Hey, what can I get for you today?” The young man behind the counter says, a dull smile etched in his face.

“I suppose I’ll have…” Patrick trails off, swallowing thickly. He silently looks over at an employee pouring in scalding coffee into a cup. He briefly thinks about jumping over the counter to snatch the cup and pour it on one of these people, snickering at the thought of flesh turning an angry red as a sharp cry escapes their lips.

“Do you want any suggestions?” The employee says, snapping him out of his daydream. Huh.

“Yes, well, I’ll have a large whatever-you-make. Soy milk please.”

The employee gives him a confused stare.

“Uh. Okay…” he drifts off, entering his choice of drink. “Your total is $5.87…”

Idly, Patrick reaches for his wallet in his pocket, and all the while, his eyes peer in your direction, taking note of how you smile at a passage in your book. Did something funny happen in the story? Did your favorite fictional pairing get together? Maybe you remembered a—

“...sir?”

Patrick almost reaches over to throttle the man but he thinks against it. He opens up his wallet and sighs in frustration. Damn. He forgot his card. And he only has 100s in bills… the thought of wasting even a measly $100 on some stupid drink makes him cringe in disgust, but… embarrassing himself is even worse. Imagine not having enough money for your purchase...

“You take hundreds?”

“Uhh, We don’t have any change for that—“

“Not my problem, pal. Keep it.”

Patrick hands him the bill, and the employee’s eyes almost pop out of his skull.

“Okay! Uh, name?”

Name… what is it that you call him? Bateman? He doesn’t think you’ve ever called him by his first name.

“Bateman.” And with that, he turns away to stand off to the side, waiting for his coffee.

Standing tall, he briefly glances at you, and you _still_ haven’t taken notice of him! Well, hopefully that’ll change in a few minutes.

He pulls back the sleeve of his coat to peer at his Rolex; it’s 12:22 PM.

He reaches up to fix his hair a little, staring into his reflection in the window. He gives a little wink of self-reassurance.

“For Bateman!” An employee calls out, setting his drink on the pick up counter. Patrick’s eyes then flash toward you through his peripheral, and sure enough, you’ve finally spotted him. He does not acknowledge you as he confidently strides toward the counter and takes his drink before elegantly leaving the establishment, holding his head high and puffing his chest out.

When he finally exits the cafe, Patrick briskly walks away and turns the street corner out of sight, leaning back against a concrete wall. His veins… are like ice. And his body can’t stop shaking, as if the cold from within has taken hold of his very being, throttling him with chills. His eyes widen at the realization. What the hell? Why is he so out of breath? And shivery? Sure, it’s September, but...

“Jesus… get a hold of yourself…” he says to himself before closing his eyes and tipping his head back against the wall. He takes several deep breaths in attempt to ground himself. In… out… in… out…

He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there, but by the time he decides to get going and to actually try the drink he bought for $100, he realizes it’s lukewarm.

...but it kind of tastes good.

He wonders if you recognized him. If you happened to admire the more casual way he dressed. Maybe you were surprised to see him in the poorer part of town, walking into a little shop where commoners found themselves in.

The hell were you doing in there? Don’t you make decent money at Pierce & Pierce? Are you just saving it up? He could buy you better drinks, he thinks as he sips on his coffee. Better food, too. Not that crap.

———

Next Sunday. Noon. On his way again to the coffee shop which he just now finds out is called Cereza’s Coffee. Not too creative, but the interior is decorated nicely enough. It vaguely reminds him of a Tuscan interior design but with a “cutesy” pop to it, light colors sprinkled here and there.

He peers through the window, searching for you yet again. When his eyes land on you, he sighs, scrutinizing you from afar. You look different than usual. But he can’t quite figure it out.

Entering the cafe, he keeps his eyes low as he heads toward the cashier, who smiles at him. It’s the same young man from before.

“Hey there. What can I get for you?”

“Same thing as last time.” Patrick says, and with a neutral expression, he pulls his wallet out while the cashier types in the order in. Patrick brought his card this time, thank goodness. But his eyes drift to the 50$ bill tucked in the pocket of his wallet. Then they drift to you, zeroing in on your unassuming form.

“Alright, $5.87.” The cashier says. Patrick provides his card information and name, and once he’s handed his receipt, he lingers a moment, debating on whether or not to hand him over the 50. He glances at you again.

“You keep looking over at that person. Do you know them...?” The worker trails off with a narrowed expression aimed at Patrick. Patrick hesitates a moment, thinking about his words carefully when he sees the accusation present in the man’s gaze.

“...yes. I work with them...”

“Pierce&Pierce?”

Patrick shoots him a pointed glare. The barista puts his hands up in defense.

“I only know that because _____ is a regular. In fact, they’re friends with the owner. They’ve been coming here for a while now.”

“How long.” Patrick says, without meaning to. His lips press together in a tight line. Why did he ask that?

“Uh...” it seems more like the barista doesn’t want to reveal such personal information. That’s fine. Not like Patrick cares anyway.

Patrick slips the $50 bill toward the barista and walks away.

Sighing, Patrick looks at himself in the reflection of a framed painting. He tilts his head from side to side, observing the little details in his face, details he’s had all his life, and much too familiar with. Caramel hair, sharp eyebrows, dark, smoldering eyes, slightly curved nose, and lips with a perfect little Cupid’s bow. Hot. Very hot. And he’s actually come to appreciate the newish hairstyle he’s had on for a bit. Not quite work-appropriate but it’s nice to switch things up. The way a few strands of his bangs will hang over his eyebrows. A kind of messy look, really. But for some reason, it looks good.

...what the hell? That’s so unlike him.

“Bateman!” One of the workers calls out, setting his drink on the pick-up counter. After he grabs it, he glances your way, but what he sees makes him stop in his tracks.

There, at your little table, where you sit dressed nicely, a man is standing near you, making some sort of conversation which has you smiling brightly. The man, tall, blonde, blue eyed babe, sits down in front of you and you lean in forward with interest as you chatter away with him in a mutually interested conversation.

Patrick’s eye twitches. His hand nearly crushes the drink underneath his tightening grip. But before he can do anything drastic, he rushes out the door in a hurry, heading home in a maddened pace.

Meanwhile, you look behind your friend to see that Bateman has already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was kind of rushed so I’m sowwy. The song is Hello Hello by Lomboy :3

**Author's Note:**

> I like the idea of Patrick’s theme song in this story to be Subsitute by Kikuo. And for reader’s theme song, it’s Are You Embarrassed When You Walk With Me by Watashinokoko. Good ass songs my friends. Actually I am generic so I might be titling all the chapters after songs LOL fuck it. The Curtain Rises by Moon Kana. Anyway stick around for more heheh.


End file.
